The Silver Locket (37 page)

She was her father’s child in looks. Everybody in the village said so, and for once the gossip was well-founded, for she had Michael’s eyes, his mouth, his nose, his corn-gold hair. All she had of Phoebe was her heart-shaped face and charming smile, her sweet, flirtatious air. Michael might be able to deny his daughter now, but one day he was going to have to face it.

Daisy Hobson was his child.

‘A letter for you, my dear,’ said Henry, one hot July morning. ‘The fellow brought it from the Dower House.’

When Maria died, Rose had written to Phoebe Gower care of Mrs Rosenheim, but not had a reply. Now she realised why. The letter had come from Leeds, and Phoebe’s scrawled directions were all wrong, so the letter had been sent all over Dorset.

She wrote back at once, inviting Phoebe to come down to Charton and stay at Henry’s house.

Phoebe got down from the train at Charton looking scared. She stared around aghast, as if she’d never seen green fields or rolling hills before. She sniffed suspiciously, as if she’d never breathed sweet, country air.

‘Rose, thank God you’re ’ere!’ She fell on Rose’s neck and hugged her tight. ‘Them people in the carriage, they’ve been giving me such looks! As if I was from Afriker, or somethin’. What’s wrong with me ’at, I’d like to know?’

‘Your hat’s divine, and you look lovely – that’s why people stared.’ Rose took the visitor’s arms from round her neck. ‘Phoebe, this is Daisy.’

‘’Ello, sweetheart!’ Phoebe crouched to smile at the child, but Daisy went all shy and hid her face.

‘She’ll come round,’ said Rose. ‘Where’s your luggage? Just this case? We’ll carry that between us.’

They walked out of the station and through Charton village, then took the road that led them past the Minster.

‘I used to live there once,’ said Rose, and pointed to the honey-coloured house.

‘You never did!’ Phoebe stared, amazed and open-mouthed. ‘Your old man a duke or somethin’?’

‘No, he’s just a country gentleman. The Minster’s been our family home for centuries, but I’m not welcome now.’

‘Where you stayin’, then?’

‘At a friend’s house. You’ll be staying there, too.’

‘You mean with your feller, Daisy’s dad?’ Phoebe’s huge, dark eyes were suddenly scared. ‘Rose, I don’t really think I want to see–’

‘Phoebe, I’ve told you half a dozen times! Michael’s not my feller, as you put it, never has been, never will be!’ Rose scooped Daisy up. ‘Let’s get a move on, then we’ll be in time for tea.’

They got back to Henry’s house just as one of the ancient maids was staggering through the double doors and out on to the terrace with the tea tray, where Henry was sitting in a wicker chair.

‘Ah, Rose and young Miss Daisy and a friend.’ Dressed like a vagrant in his mildewed, ragged tweeds, Henry scrambled up and bowed to Phoebe, who stared at him, astonished. ‘How do you do, Miss–’

‘Gower, Phoebe Gower. Phoebe, this is Mr Henry Denham.’ Rose and Daisy sat down on a bench, and Rose motioned Phoebe towards the other wicker chair. ‘Thank you, Eliza, you may go. I shall pour out the tea.’

Phoebe stared around as if amazed. Although the house was crumbling and decrepit, the terrace looked very beautiful in summer, with its riot of scarlet pelargoniums in the weathered troughs and great stone urns, with its formal paving of lichened, golden stone, and its view of headlands, fields and sea.

Rose blessed Henry Denham, who put Phoebe at her ease, asking her about her journey, smiling and looking interested in everything she said.

He drank his tea and then excused himself, saying he ought to go and see his roses. Daisy toddled after him.

‘I’ll be sorry to see Daisy go,’ said Rose, as they watched the little girl take Henry’s wrinkled hand. He offered her a biscuit from his pocket, and she scattered crumbs for his little flock of tame white doves. ‘She’s such a lovely child.’

‘Yeah, she’s a peach.’ Phoebe gazed across the heat-hazed garden. ‘Looks just like ’er dad, though. Rose, when you brought ’er ’ere, did you ’ave any trouble?’

‘You mean, did people wonder whose she was?’ Rose shrugged. ‘Well, as you say, it’s obvious she’s Michael’s. I imagine all the village biddies thought she must be mine. But as for actual trouble – well, not really, no.’

Leaving Henry to look after Daisy, Rose took Phoebe to her room, ready to apologise for all the mushrooms growing on the walls and the air of general decay.

But Phoebe was enchanted. ‘Look at that enormous bed!’ she cried. ‘All them velvet curtains! Rose, it’s like in a film! Milady’s boudoir, eh? I’ll feel like I’m the queen tonight!’

‘Phoebe, it’s just a big, old-fashioned bed.’ Rose put Phoebe’s little cardboard suitcase on the chest of drawers. ‘Let’s go and find Daisy now.’

Rose had arranged with Mrs Hobson to keep the little girl at Henry’s house, so she and Phoebe could get to know each other before they went away.

But as the days went by and Phoebe’s pale skin tanned a golden brown, Rose saw Phoebe took very little interest in the child. She spoke to her and played with her, but never sat her on her lap or cuddled her. If Daisy wanted reassurance or affection, she always went to Rose.

‘You don’t need to be afraid of Daisy,’ Rose told Phoebe one cool evening, after they’d put the little girl to bed. ‘I know she’s small, but children are quite tough.’

‘Yeah, I suppose they must be.’ Phoebe shrugged. ‘Rose, do you play cribbage? Henry was tellin’ me ’e ’ad a board.’

Alex had been away from home, but now he had some leave and was in Dorset for a week. ‘Alex, this is Phoebe Gower,’ said Rose. ‘She’s come to visit Daisy.’

‘Good afternoon, Miss Gower.’ Alex held out his hand and Phoebe smirked, preening herself and patting her neat chignon of dark hair, a flirt just like her daughter.

Although he was polite and pleasant, Alex seemed proof against all Phoebe’s charms. After they’d had tea and cake and talked about the weather for a while, he took Rose indoors, leaving Daisy looking at her mother.

They went straight upstairs. Afterwards, Alex lay back on the pillows. ‘The third battalion’s marked for India,’ he said, and stared up at the ceiling.

‘When did you find out?’

‘There was a rumour several weeks ago.’

‘That’s why you went to London, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, to see a man who’d just got back.’

‘When do you go?’ asked Rose.

‘September or October. I’ve been bumped up to major. So I’ll have a decent bungalow, some money, all the servants I could need. In India, I’ll be living in a style I could only dream about in Britain.’ He turned to her at last. ‘Rose, how would you like to be a
mem
?’

‘You mean you’d take me with you?’

‘I’d be going for twenty years! I’m certainly not leaving you behind!’

‘But we won’t be married before you leave, there isn’t time.’

‘That’s what I went to see this chap about. He was in a similar situation. Rose, I know it’s not ideal, but Kendall says that if we don’t rock any boats, there shouldn’t be any problems. You’ll be Mrs Denham, you’ll be treated as my wife, and shown the same respect. As soon as the divorce comes through, we’ll marry. So are you coming?’

‘Alex , you’ll be marrying a pauper,’ Rose reminded him. ‘Daddy won’t change his mind.’

‘Let Easton inherit the whole of Dorset,’ Alex said, so softly that Rose could hardly hear the words. ‘My darling, I have
you
.’

‘What about Chloe’s settlement?’

‘Henry says he’s going to pay her off.’ Alex shrugged. ‘I’ll pay him back. I’ll make my fortune out in India, and I’ll pay him back, I’ve promised him.’

The following morning, Phoebe seemed subdued, or even tearful.

‘’E’s very nice, your Alex,’ she began, as she and Rose sat in the breakfast room, eating toast and watching Daisy follow the ducks that came up from the lake each morning hoping to find crusts, and were now waddling round the sunny terrace. ‘’E’s got nice manners, too – not like some people I could mention, what don’t live a million miles away.’

‘I’m glad you like him. I love him very much.’ Rose took Phoebe’s hand. ‘Phoebe, about Daisy–’

‘Rose, you know I can’t take ’er!’ Phoebe’s mouth was working and she looked as if she might start to cry. ‘These past few days, I’ve tried an’ tried! I like ’er well enough. She’s very sweet an’ everythin’–’

Phoebe rummaged in her pocket, searching for a handkerchief. ‘But she don’t know me. She don’t feel like my child.’

‘But Phoebe, she’s your daughter,’ Rose said, gently. ‘You must feel–’

‘I’m sorry, Rose, I don’t.’ Phoebe glanced towards open the door. ‘Look out, ’ere comes your feller.’

Alex walked into the breakfast room and sat down at the table. ‘You’re very quiet, ladies,’ he began.

‘We was thinkin’,’ Phoebe told him.

‘About what?’ Alex looked Rose. ‘Darling, what’s the matter?’

‘Nothing, Alex.’

‘Rose, it’s everythin’!’ Phoebe looked anxiously at Alex. ‘Rose might ’ave said I’m goin’ with a Jewish feller, yeah?’

‘She didn’t, but go on.’

‘I’m goin’ to convert. I’m ’avin’ lessons with the local rabbi, and I’m doin’ all right.’ Phoebe turned to Rose. ‘Nathan’s done so much for me!’ she cried. ‘ ’Idin’ me when Dan was after me, then takin’ me to Leeds an’ lodgin’ me with his relations there. But there’s nothin’ for us ’ere in Britain. So now the war is over, we’re goin’ to New York, to start again.’

Phoebe looked earnestly at Rose. ‘We’re takin’ Mrs R, of course. She’s been like a mother, what that woman ’asn’t done for me ain’t nobody’s business. But as for little Daisy – money’s tight already. I can’t ask Nathan to do this for me, as well.’

‘Phoebe, love, Maria left some money. You could have–’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Rose!’ wailed Phoebe, bursting into tears.

‘Phoebe, don’t upset yourself,’ said Alex. ‘If you feel you can’t take Daisy to New York with you, we shall have to think of something else. Rose, is there any coffee?’

Henry shuffled in just then, and Rose began to talk of eggs and bacon. Phoebe’s sobbing turned to furtive sniffing. Later, she and Henry went off arm in arm to feed the doves.

‘Henry’s such a lovely man,’ said Rose. ‘So good, so generous, so kind.’

‘Yes, I’m going to miss the dear old chap.’

‘Alex, what exactly did you mean when you said we’d have to think of something else for Daisy?’

‘Of course, it’s really up to you.’ Alex buttered a slice of bread, then cut it into fingers. ‘She doesn’t have a proper home. She needs one, and she could have one with us.’

Rose stared at him, astonished. ‘You – you mean we could adopt her?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Alex, Michael would have killed you! He’s going to inherit what should be yours and mine. But you’d still take his child?’

‘We still don’t know if Daisy
is
his daughter, and anyway she needs a family.’ Alex watched Daisy toddle across flagstones, clapping her podgy little hands, and scattering all the ducks. ‘Daisy?’

Daisy stopped. She turned to him and beamed. She came inside and climbed on to his lap, then helped herself to fingers of his bread.

‘Sins of the fathers,’ Alex murmured, as he stroked her silky, golden curls. ‘Rose, the child is always innocent, but always suffers most.’

Then Rose understood. Alex was remembering his own appalling childhood, and – loving little Daisy as he did – he didn’t have any choice.

‘Daisy?’ Rose reached out to stroke one soft, pink hand. ‘We’re going on a ship to India.’

Daisy twisted round to frown at Alex.

‘Don’t look so worried, sweetheart.’ Alex smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s going to be a very big adventure for us all.’

At the end of yet another golden afternoon, when Daisy was asleep on Henry’s lap and Phoebe had gone upstairs to do her packing, Rose took Alex for a walk.

They followed the winding path around the headland and watched the tide race in. ‘You’ve gone very quiet again,’ said Alex, taking Rose’s hand. ‘You’re happy to take Daisy?’

‘More than happy,’ Rose assured him.

‘It’s just that I was thinking – if we can’t have children of our own – Daisy is so lovely.’

‘Yes, she’s gorgeous,’ Rose agreed.

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘There’s no problem.’ Rose smiled up at him. ‘There’s something I must to tell you.’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t want to say until I was certain. But now I’m almost sure. Alex, it’s like a miracle, and I never thought it would happen. But I’m going to have a child.’

‘You’re what?’ Alex stared at her in disbelief. ‘But when you were in hospital, you said–’

‘I know I did. But I’ve been getting fatter, every morning I feel slightly sick, and there are all the other signs as well. Alex, are you pleased?’

‘You need to ask me if I’m pleased?’ Alex picked her up and swung her round. ‘Rose, I’m delighted. We’re going to have the perfect family.’

About the Author

Margaret James
was born and brought up in Hereford. She
 
studied English at London University, and has written many short stories, articles and serials for magazines. She
 
is
 
the author of fifteen published novels.